Hospital Bed Crawl
by Adelaide 'Adell' Peirce
Summary: "When the darkness has taken over your mind and death cannot be your salvation, what is there left to do but seek asylum?"
1. Chapter 1: Hello Cruel World

When the darkness has taken over your mind and death cannot be your salvation, what is there left to do but seek asylum?

_**About the story: **_Set after the seven books with everything as canon dictates except for the Epilogue and the fact that Harry is still the Master of Death despite throwing away the Resurrection Stone and snapping the Elder Wand. Timeline will be posted on my profile page to those wondering when certain chapters take place and will be updated and changed as more details are revealed. The Arkham Asylum here is both the one in Nolan-verse and Arkham Asylum; the asylum in Nolan-verse was destroyed during the events of Batman Begins and I imagine they rebuilt it with heavier security and what not to make it the asylum in the game. This is not a oneshot; I repeat, this is not a oneshot (and it isn't just four chapters too, only four chapters are on the timeline because that's all I have noted down so far). Chapters here are probably longer than the ones I write for my LoK (Taming the Wolfbat) fanfiction as well, considering this is more "free flowing" compared to that one.

_**Disclaimer: **_The author does not have ownership over Harry Potter or any of its characters and the same goes for Batman, locations and such; they belong to JK Rowling and to Bob Kane and Bill Finger (I almost wrote Stan Lee here, lol). This fanfiction, however, does belong to her. If she did own the show, Severus Snape and Regulus Black would be alive and Batman... Joker and Harley would have children, I guess? I don't know.

_**Warning: **_Violence, sexual themes and other things that would warrant a warning. Rated M more for sexual references and violence; may have depictions of torture and self harm. This chapter implies homosexual intercourse between Crane and Harry but nothing explicit.

_**Pairings:**__ (Major) _Scarecrow x Harry _(Minor) _ Riddler x Harry / Joker x Harley Quinn / Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy

_**Author's Notes: **_My muse has been fighting between Harry Potter & Addams Family crossover, Harry Potter & Avengers crossover and Harry Potter & Batman crossover. This won because I'm playing Arkham Asylum and Arkham City… Reviews are appreciated but not necessary; I'm doing this for fun after all! I'm not a big expert on Batman so I wouldn't mind criticism and corrections but I am basing this crossover on the Nolan trilogy and the two Arkham games. Bonus points and cupcakes to those who know the song the story is titled after (as well as the chapters and future ones). It is suggested but not mandatory to listen to the songs 'Hospital Bed Crawl' by the Hush Sound and 'Hello Cruel World' by Aurelio Voltaire before you read.

Without further ado…

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_**Hospital Bed Crawl**_

_**Chapter 1: **__Hello Cruel World_

He was flying, hand gripped tightly on his Firebolt as the wind whipped about him and sent the sound of laughter to reach his ears. It was a wonderful feeling, flying, where the sky was truly the limit and it was the only place where he could be truly free. It was made even better when he was flying alongside his best friend, Ronald Weasley, as they took to the skies and made it their domain like kings.

"It's just like old times, eh Harry?" Ron's voice called out to him, making Harry look back at the friend he considered a brother. The boy, wait no, man's – what was he, twenty two? Or something like that – fiery red hair stood out brightly among the blue sky and he could clearly see when the freckled face let out a face of joy and he laughed, shaking his head at Harry. There couldn't be a better day to go out flying, after a hard day's work rounding up dark wizards.

Suddenly, lightning flashed as the skies turned stormy and Ron screamed as if struck. In a panic, Harry rushed over there as soon as he could, even as heavy drops of rain started to pour down on them, slowing him down but he only pushed on faster when he saw the youngest Weasley son start to plummet towards the ground.

Thankfully, it was all over in an instant, ending as quickly as it had begun: with Harry holding on to Ron for dear life. The Potter boy couldn't help but grin, laughing nervously, his voice hoarse; "You okay, Ron? I got you, don't worry." He let out a sigh of relief when he managed to grab a hold of his friend but continued to look down worriedly when the other boy stayed silent. Ah, but it was probably just nerves… after all, he almost became a pancake of sorts. It would probably be good to just snap him out of it; "Ron, come on mate, I got you. Let's just get you up on the Firebolt and, Ron… Ron? Ron!" he started off, trying to call the other out of the trance when the hand gripping his started to tighten painfully around his wrist.

Ron's head snapped upwards, his face pale and clammy as blood trickled down one side of his face. Dead blue eyes stared at him with pure anger and Ron hissed: "Why did you let me die? Why did you let them kill me? Why didn't you save me? Why don't you use the Resurrection Stone Harry? I'LL KILL YOU HARRY!" The last few words were said in an ungodly roar as Ron's other hand found their way up towards Harry's neck. And Harry found them plummeting much like before, with his efforts divided from trying to save the both of them from the ground and trying to save himself from his best friend. It didn't seem like he would make it in time though as the ground was slowly closing in and-

Harry woke up in cold sweat and deep green eyes met cool blue ones that made his heart seize, his body working on auto pilot to save him until a pair of hands pushed him down by the shoulders, gently but firmly. The same pair of hands peeled off the damp cloth from his sweaty skin, the blanket he had managed to get tangled in while asleep. It was only then that his mind processed that the cool blue eyes boring into him were not his, not Ron's. It had all been… "A nightmare – again," it was a statement, not a question that was directed to him. He could only nod dumbly as blue eyes ran a soothing hand down his back and he, unconsciously, leaned towards the other man.

The other man was, of course, more than just a pair of blue eyes and a pair of hands. He… he was a lean and lanky figure in his late twenties who was a bit taller than Harry with a head of messy brown hair of his own. He was Jonathan Crane: Harry's ruin, salvation – his lover, his confidant… and his psychiatrist.

Cool blue eyes continued to stare into his deep green ones, filled with curiosity, hunger, searching until they made way for longing… lust. "Harry, _my_ Harry," Jonathan whispered softly, feeling himself aroused at the display of fear, eyes brimming with the emotion after a nightmare, _his_ Harry had shown him. He couldn't help but bury his face into the crook of the other man's neck, nipping at the exposed skin, adding another one to the many marks of possession that scattered along his body.

It always filled the doctor with want whenever Harry woke up from another of his nightly terrors and the boy would come to him seek comfort and companionship. Jonathan Crane was his only choice, _the_ only choice; after all, who else would offer to comfort a man such as he within the cold walls of this asylum? Definitely not the nurses and doctors who saw him as a danger to society and definitely not the other inmates and patients that was mad themselves. Only Jonathan would do such a thing for him, he was _his _Harry; his favorite patient and star project to his colleagues and his pet to the other residents of the asylum. Most figured that the doctor just saw so much of himself in the boy, shadows of his youth, a mirror of his present (perhaps in more than just appearances) and perhaps a glimmer of his future which was why he favored him so. It wasn't a secret that Doctor Crane put most of his efforts on the Harry boy, as most would call him, but only a handful knew that what transpired between them was more than just a doctor and patient relationship. Nobody told, of course, none of them particularly cared nor dared – this was his playground after all; he called the shots around here.

And known only to the good doctor himself was the little secret that only Harry, _his _Harry would be safe from his _Fear_; after all, _his_ Harry was already experiencing true fear every night with or without his help. And this true fear _his_ Harry showed… well, it truly did drive him mad, filled him with want so much. It didn't matter if they were both spent and tired doing the deed the night before – he would bed him then and there whenever the other awoke, returned from the land of nightmares. It didn't help matters that the other was always willing, welcoming even, his touches, thinking them as reprieve from the darkness that lay in his mind.

Jonathan moved on from Harry's neck to his lips, nipping at the other's bottom lip, pressing their naked bodies in the process which elicited a moan from the younger man. Tongue met tongue when he slipped in his into the boy's mouth in that moment. The doctor pulled his head back by his messy raven locks but did not break the kiss, showing his dominance to the younger man which Harry was more than willing to submit to.

This has been their routine for the past two years, starting after two years since that day that Harry was first incarcerated into Arkham, when Jonathan first laid eyes on the boy. He had been a sight to see when he was first admitted, three years ago on this very night, covered in blood from head to toe and striking fear into the hearts of those who caught sight of him. The bloody figure only managed to barely avoid the death sentence – there was no need to plead insanity when it was clear on his face and his apparent youth helped. And, strangely, there were no records of the boy; he wasn't a citizen or even a visitor, as if he wasn't supposed to exist here. It was curious, troubling even, but the apparent insanity on the boy's expression made the decision for him: to asylum he went and not to jail.

After all, it wasn't every day that you saw what seemed to be a boy of just seventeen lead along by five orderlies twice his size like a rabid dog, cuffed and chained by the neck and both arms and legs. It wasn't every day that you heard that they only managed to bring said teenaged looking boy this far when they had sedated him, heavily at that, and yet he still managed to put up quite the fight. It wasn't every day that you find out he was sent here after having killed seventy (although only fifty of those deaths were actually by his hands) other men and women in a blood stained frenzy.

Nobody had dared to stare too long, nobody except Doctor Crane who wasn't focused on the gory appearance before him. No, the doctor had immediately focused on the boy's eyes… the greenest eyes he had ever (and would ever, he told himself) seen; eyes that were filled with not bloodlust or anger but fear, delicious fear. Ironic that the boy, the one that managed to put fear into the hearts of those who had seen him, seemed to fear – well – everything else.

It was that fateful day that Jonathan Crane decided that the boy, Harry Potter, was to be his.

The doctor smirked as they kissed, remembering how hard it was to gain _his_ Harry's trust. He hadn't trust anyone, wouldn't trust anyone and had always caused trouble for the orderlies and the doctors and the others in the asylum during his more… moodier days. Crane didn't mind, it gave him an excuse to see the troublesome patient, although he could easily make up any excuse seeing as he was the head doctor of the place.

It started off with brief glances whenever the doctor was asked what should be done about the violent boy, fearful, deep green eyes meeting curious cool blue before the Potter boy would be sedated heavily. The orderlies didn't have it quite that easy, even with the go ahead to restrain the boy though. He was surprisingly strong and agile for the young man that he seemed to be, his movements fluid and sure as if he had seen battle far worse than this. They were lucky that nobody ended up like the dozens he had slaughtered the day he was incarcerated. He always managed to deal great damage to them before they could take him down and the fear displayed by those who had managed to become their audience was great… still nothing compared to the pure fear that shone in the youth's deep green eyes.

It soon became psychiatric sessions, one on one talks; Harry was viewed as one of the more violent and dangerous inmates thus far (considering characters like the Joker hadn't sprung up yet) – but, he was young (or so they believed) and they saw his youth as a chance of him being… fixed. What better way to fix him than to put him up with the best psychiatrist in the facility? Doctor Crane certainly did not object; if anything he was willing, the only willing one in fact – no other doctor wanted to be kept in a room with him. The boy was stubborn at first, only managing to not harm the doctor because of the straightjacket and the straps that kept him in place. Yet, sometimes, the doctor had a feeling that the boy could hurt him, even with all the precautions, if he truly wanted to. The first few one on one talks were hardly that though, seeing as the younger man had blatantly refused to talk. He was like a frightened wild animal, ready to lash out to defend himself. It had been interesting, satisfying, at first just watching him squirm but it eventually grew bland and boring. Seeing as talking wasn't going to get them anywhere, Crane did what no other sane doctor would do – he released the boy of his bindings. The man was unfazed, even when the boy took this opportunity and immediately lunged for his neck with one hand while holding back the doctor's good arm with the other, suspicious. Green eyes had searched into blue and… there was something, a feeling, as if the boy could see more than he should before he was released. Orderlies did not rush in and the doctor did not flee; he merely went back up to his feet, rubbed his bruised arm and straightened himself out. After that, Harry was more cooperative during the following sessions and Crane slowly but surely started to unravel what made the boy tick.

It went from psychiatric sessions to just private, nightly visits or, sometimes, early morning ones. Crane didn't know how the boy did it, how he escaped solitary confinement undetected night after night (but then again, the security was... well, lacking, as most of the inmates were willingly sent there by Falcone), but he was glad that the boy was taking _initiative_. He was the only one the boy was willing to trust after a year inside the walls of the asylum and he would keep it that way if he could. The visits were usually after the boy woke from another nightmare – and there were lots of them, not all the same either, he learned later on – and the visits were just that, _innocent_, little visits.

Crane became his confidant, the doctor whispering soothing words into Harry's ears as he bore his deepest fears and his soul to the man; the boy's anguish was his ecstasy. Harry spoke of the mad man that killed his parents, being adopted by a family who abused him and locked him in a cupboard (Crane particularly did not like these stories, remembering the times his grandmother would lock him in the old bird filled cathedral), watching as a fellow student was killed or watching his godfather be murdered by the man's own sister or watching his mentor fall to his death or watching his teacher slowly die in front of his eyes or… or… or, well, let's just say the boy seemed to have seen a lot of death for someone so young, not including the fifty that lead to his incarceration in here. There were more, a lot more, that Crane could imagine they would never run out of stories about Harry alone; some of which Harry spoke off after a nightly terror and others which he spoke off when asked: such as the scars that read _I must not tell lies_ on his arm, apparently carved by one of his former teachers.

They were all quite fascinating really but Crane's favorite, like how a child would favor a certain fairy tale, was the one of the Boggart: a creature Harry claims took on a person's worst fear. When asked what his Boggart was, the boy claims it was a Dementor: a creature that fed on human happiness. He had shook his head and snorted when he mentions his teacher, one who claims that his Boggart being a Dementor suggested that Harry's fear was fear itself but that did not make sense to him. If a Dementor was a creature that fed on happiness, doesn't that mean that Harry was afraid of being unhappy, of despair? If the Boggart turned into a Boggart, than that _might_ mean that the person's fear was fear itself but Harry claims that is impossible – nobody knew what a Boggart looked like. He was a bit disappointed when Harry told him he has not seen a Boggart in the asylum or in Gotham but promised to tell him if he did. Crane had quietly told himself that, if he ever encountered the creature of fear, he would dissect it… cut into fear itself, in a way.

It had been a few months later that the nightly visits became less than innocent; they _played_ in Crane's bed – one knowing it was for lust, the other thinking it was of love. Harry, the doctor learned, was mature in most, if not all, ways of the world except one: that of carnal knowledge. The doctor told him that it was because he was merely eighteen or so; Harry claims that he is twenty seven. But when he had pleaded, Crane acquiesces to his whims (he would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't thought about such acts with the boy) and this makes Harry _truly his_. Clumsy kisses with teeth and hesitant touches, the boy was truly inexperienced, but his… _skill_ improved with time and Crane found that Harry satisfied his wants in more way than one; Crane was not just psychiatrist and confidant anymore, he became Harry's lover.

"D-doctor J," Harry moaned lustfully as his breathing hitches but relaxes himself as Jonathan fills him.

Four years ago, he would have seen himself spending today just like any other normal day. He would have not believed it if someone had told him he would be spending it in bed, another man in his arms. But four years ago, on this very day, something had happened and the way it has changed his day to day life was certainly interesting.

He regrets none of it.


	2. Chapter 2: Don't Wake Me Up

When the darkness has taken over your mind and death cannot be your salvation, what is there left to do but seek asylum?

_**About the story, Disclaimer, Warning, Pairings:**_See Chapter 1; Cover page is from an HP fanart by Numeri of Pixiv.

_**Author's Notes: **_Inspiration/Background for this is from the song "Don't Wake Me Up" from The Hush Sound. Took a break trying to get a 100% completion in the main story of Arkham City; I just need to finish two more AR Trainings (getting the hang of diving to the exact height needed is difficult) and get enough secrets to locate the final Riddler Room which is proving to be annoying… CURSE YOU RIDDLER!

There was a minor thing I changed in Chapter 1, by the way!

The line: "And, strangely, there were also some interfering individuals from across the pond and Gotham was a corrupt enough of a city as it was that several prods and pushes in the right places kept him from being locked up behind bars," was changed to "And, strangely, there were no records of the boy; he wasn't a citizen or even a visitor, as if he wasn't supposed to exist here. It was curious, troubling even, but the apparent insanity on the boy's expression made the decision for him: to asylum he went and not to jail." And the last two paragraphs were just shifted around to make it feel more correct and fixed Harry's age.

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_**Hospital Bed Crawl**_

_**Chapter 2: **__Don't Wake Me Up_

"Harry?"

He had a visitor? But, who would be visiting him and at this time of night too? After all, he was usually sneaking about at night – aside from the guards – to visit Doctor J. He had been asleep in his cell, should still be asleep (valuing every sleepless night he could get) when the intruder came. It was an intruder, of course, when he saw she was alone with no orderly there for her protection.

Unfocused green eyes looked up through a curtain of dark hair at the one calling him, tiredly trying to stay awake as his weary mind tried to connect the face with a name. A fair skinned woman in her late twenties with brown hair tied up in a messy bun came to view when he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. She was wearing a dark beige trench coat and black pants, a red purse slung over her shoulder. He wondered, briefly, why the other patients and inmates in Intensive Care did not notice her. But it was clear why when he felt the small tingle of 'Notice Me Not' charms as well as other glamours and privacy charms, the feeling of another person's magic that he hadn't sensed in so long. Her name was, it's been five years, it's… Hermann? Harmony? "…Hermione." Ah, right, that was her name.

He watched as brown eyes grew damp, the girl blinking back tears as a sad smile came to her face. But the expression on the girl's face was wiped off soon enough, to be replaced with one of worry and confusion. She voiced as such, asking: "Are you alright, Harry?" And he wondered, his mind chugging along slowly to process his thoughts once more, to wonder what brought on that question.

It must have been, he realized after a few moments, that she was worried about his lack of response, his face blank and his voice indifferent_._ Had she been expecting anything else: happiness, sadness or anger at her appearance perhaps? But no, he felt nothing at the sight of his old friend, nothing except annoyance at having been woken up so late during a rare night when he wasn't having any nightmares.

"It's three o' clock in the bloody morning, Hermione," he drawled, as if that explained everything, and made to lie back down in his bed with an irritated sigh, "Come back during visiting hours; whatever they need the 'Boy Who Lived' for can wait." That was why Hermione was here for, of course, the 'Boy Who Lived' not Harry; why else would she only come now after so long? He huffed and tried to go back to sleep, hoping the night would continue nightmare free even after the short interruption.

But then she started crying, she _had _to start crying of all things, and he sat back up with a groan. The woman was weeping, trying hard yet failing to dry the tears that spilled down her cheeks as if her eyes were dams that just broke down. "We all thought you were dead, Harry… We saw R-Ron," she had some difficulty saying his name and she spoke it with a hiccup. "And the others but, we didn't see you. A-and, we went to the hospitals to see if the Muggles got to you first.. But you weren't in any of them,and we thought – we thought that you were in the… _mess_, your blood was everywhere there as well," she spoke the last word as if she were to be sick. The _mess _Harry had left in his wake still haunted those who had seen it to this very day.

It haunted him too, but not as much as it used to, the pain associated with the image nothing but a dull ache now. The anger outweighed the pain, anger at himself for his failure, anger at the Death Eaters that forced his hand and anger at the Auror who had betrayed them but he could only be angry at himself now, for the others were already dead. "I wished I was but, you know, that isn't going to happen…" he hissed.

There were only supposed to be thirty Death Eaters when they were called to Gotham for an escort; he had brought along twenty of his best Aurors including Ron with him for the task. It was all supposed to be a simple escort mission with the twenty American Aurors already having incapacitated the fiends… but there had been a traitor in their midst, a sympathizer, one who had been swayed with mere words, weak of will but skilled with magic. That was all it took for hell to break loose and for the tables to turn against them.

Severing curses and other spells that were meant to hurt, maim and kill flew from the wands of the accursed enemies while the Aurors tried to their best only to defend and to subdue. It was their mistake, they shouldn't have held back and hesitated – it shouldn't have been a question of morals, there shouldn't have been any question at all. Half of their forces had been cut down while they managed only to bind a third of the Death Eaters, but it wasn't enough and, he knew now, that he should have took initiative, damn the political consequences with the Americans. It wasn't long for them to be defeated, most of the Aurors bloodied and broken on the ground with minimal casualties on the sides of the enemies. Ron… Ron had been struck down in battle, fighting like a true Gryffindor and it had pained him that he could not avenge him.

And then they focused their sights on him; their leader ordered as such, seeing as he was the reason their Lord Voldemort did not still roam this plain and he was the reason for his pain. The leader was Amycus Carrow and he was adamant on _punishing_ him for their _crimes_ against them, against him; Harry could remember his wild eyes as the Carrow brother spat on him and blamed him for his sister's death while in incarceration. It must have been payback for when Harry had tried the Cruciatus Curse on him when he had spat at McGonagall during the Battle of Hogwarts. The man wasn't hesitant at all to put him in a world of pain, a pain so intense that it wracked his entire body, made him feel like white hot pokers were being stabbed into every inch of his flesh, made him feel as if he was being burned and flayed alive and the pain went on and on even after he had screamed himself hoarse. It continued on to the point that he couldn't scream anymore and was reduced to tears, humiliated as he was held down and stripped of his dignity.

And it went on, far too far, until something in him snapped. The last thing he wholly recalled was throwing off his captors and everything after that was stained in bloody red. He could still remember the feeling of exhilaration as he slaughtered his enemies, felt their guts in his hands as he tore them apart but it was all a bloody red blur, a bloody red frenzy. When he had come to, the bodies of thirty Death Eaters, every single one except for Carrow's was in a heap of an indescribable mess, a small hill of guts and gore – he only realized he had Carrow's severed head in his arms when he felt them tire. He was also covered from head to toe in blood, skin and guts caked under his nails and there was a faint, odd taste in his mouth along with the coppery taste of blood though he felt no need to vomit. One couldn't even recognize them as bodies anymore, at first glance, and he wouldn't be surprised if not all of the bodies in the heap belonged to his enemies. When he calmed down, he made his way to the other Aurors; some were still alive but in great pain. If he were anyone else, he would have made to save them, but he _knew_ they would not survive the night and so, out of mercy, he had ended it all for them.

He wasn't quite in his right mind after that, finding himself wandering off when he had done euthanasia on the last of the Aurors. He didn't even look back when a voice, a Muggle, started to shout at him to stop. Harry had just let his feet take him to wherever they felt like going without question. He remembered stopping at a bridge, metal grating overhead spelling out the word 'Arkham'…

Harry was broken out of his reverie when Hermione took out her wand; the reaction was instant as he snarled like a threatened animal. He knew Hermione would never hurt him but the feeling of another person using magic, stronger than that of glamours, put him on edge. His eyes, as green as the light of the Killing Curse, went mad as he disarmed Hermione wandlessly; "Don't point that thing at me!" he hissed menacingly, his face contorting into an expression of rage but calmed down, back to indifference, when he saw the horrified look on the Muggleborn's face. There was the slight waver in her spells and, to anyone awake, it would have seemed as if a brunette appeared momentarily from thin air and disappeared once more. He fought away the annoyance that he felt so awake now, knowing the weariness of not getting sleep would hit hard later in the day; Doctor J would be wondering why he didn't go to him, assuming the lack of sleep was because of another nightmare… Doctor J, Jonathan, he wished he had taken to his private quarters, with or without the nightmares, so he didn't have to deal with this, not alone at least. There was a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair; "Who else knows I'm here?"

"No one else knows _you're_ here Harry. I told them I was taking a vacation in America to get away from it all; I didn't want to... to cause trouble by telling others that I thought you were still alive," she bit her lower lip nervously as she replied and ducked her head in shame. She disguised the motion by kneeling on the floor to retrieve her wand but the reaction wasn't lost on him. "They've just gotten over what happened and I didn't want to get their hopes up only to disappoint them. I just had a feeling and… I wanted to know."

A fond smile made its way on the boy's face as he looked at his old friend. "You were always an insufferable 'know it all', Hermione." There was a chuckle but the positive expression and emotion on his face didn't last when he saw the hopeful look growing on her face. "But… I'm staying here; it'd be better for them to keep thinking I'm a dead man, instead of disappointing them when they see what I've become. Its better they think their Savior died a shining beacon of light – not a monster that survived. Besides, I like it here." He liked not having the responsibilities of Britain's Savior and of the 'Boy Who Lived', truthfully, but he could have done that anywhere. The only reason he stayed here was that he liked being with Jonathan more. And Jonathan said he liked being with Harry too and told him he would be saddened if he ever left.

Hermione had a look of disbelief on her face; who could blame her though? This place wasn't exactly what one would call a proper home. "What happened to you, Harry?" she spoke in a careful manner.

"Seeing Ron die happened, hours under the Cruciatus Curse happened, the massacre happened," _Jonathan happened, _but he wouldn't tell her that and he found himself sighing once more. A hand went through his hair once more as he leaned back on the concrete wall of his cell, a wry smile on his face as he continued to talk. "Besides, did you plan on just breaking me out of here? I may have been a John Doe before, maybe you could have freed me from this place years ago without anybody's protest. But they know me here; they'll wonder why the Harry boy is gone. We don't want to break any laws, do we?"

"…I can Obliviate them."

It was Harry's turn to give Hermione a disbelieving look. "Can you Obliviate every single one of them? I don't think you'll be able to go after every single inmate, patient, doctor, orderly, janitor or visitor who's been here in the last five years; I've made quite the impression on most of them, you know." _And I'm not letting you Obliviate Jonathan,_ came the unspoken threat. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at Hermione, knowing that it would be unfair towards her if the anger buried in him was placed on the girl. "And doing that, well, you'll break the laws of the American Ministry of Magic – they're much more lenient when it comes to the Statute of Secrecy with all the _craziness_ going about this country. They don't want an outsider messing with their people's minds."

Silence settled between them after what he said. Hermione had a thoughtful look on her face, struggling to think of how to handle the situation. There was one hand and there was another and he could see the weariness on her face as she came to a conclusion of sorts. "Harry, I know you're upset and maybe a little unwell… I'll come back in the morning and I'll contact the Ministries about letting you out of here, legally," she told him with a tone of finality.

"I do really want to stay here. Maybe, in the future when I'm better, I'll change my mind but not now, Hermione. Me staying here is for the best." He felt tired, he _was_ tired and he wondered if he should risk the trip to Doctor J's office at the time when the orderlies and other asylum staff would start checking in and going about their work.

There was a look of disappointment, a frown on her lips, as she ignored his words. "I'll be coming back during visiting hours about your release. I'll be seeing you, Harry."

He cracked one eye open, green eyes boring into the Muggleborn's back as she made to leave. That was when he stilled at what he saw, something that hadn't been there before. _Grim_, the dark dog, sat next to Hermione, waiting for her patiently like a loyal dog waiting for its owner so that it could follow. His insides went cold for a moment but he would not let his features display the fear, no, surprise he had felt at seeing the sign of death come close to his old friend. He quickly schools his features to that of calmness, not letting his eyes betray him as he acts as if nothing is wrong aside from what already is; he has learned before that telling a person of their imminent death never ends up well. "…No, no you won't. Goodbye Hermione… and I'm sorry about Ron." He had seen the _Grim_ that day, five years ago, as well but there had been so many of them that he couldn't be quite sure who the dark dog of death was escorting to their graves; how could he have known that the thing was escorting all but him? And Ron… both he and Hermione have asked him not to tell if he saw the dog by their side; he respected that.

Hermione looked back with a small, sad smile on her face before disappearing with a loud crack, the sound similar to a gunshot only unheard to the Muggles because of the charms that wavered behind to hide any trace of her being there. The _Grim_ was gone along with her, leaving as she did.

Harry made to go back to sleep, feeling worst than he had ever been before, thinking that was the end of that. Of course, with his luck and with the universe choosing to mess with him at the worst moments, another voice broke the silence.

"Ah, there you are! That was peculiar, bamboozling indeed. I've been trying to locate your cell but I couldn't _will_ myself to look in the right direction. But for a moment there, I saw a woman and I saw you then I didn't again! Oh, I hope the madness here isn't infectious, that won't do at all, not at all," a man spoke oddly cheerful as he approached Harry's cell. It was a Muggle, he could tell, as he felt no magic from his man and there were no privacy charms set in place seeing as the other inmates started to stir from the man's noise and banter. The man in question had messy brown hair and was wearing a dark green three piece suit which matched his dark green eyes, hidden behind rectangular spectacles. In one of his hands was a silver cane and in the other was a green bowler hat. Aside from the odd attire, nothing marked him as less than an ordinary man unless you accounted the enthusiastic, indescribable glint in his grassy hued eyes. "Tell me, does Crane's gas break down barriers as _it_ drives you insane?"

"Excuse me?" Harry blinked, not because he was curious as to why the well although oddly dressed man was looking for him, but because he was wondering as to what he meant by Crane's gas.

But the man continued, waving away his confusion as he twirled the cane around and rested it under his arm. "Oh, he hasn't used _it_ on you, has he? Well, you _are his_ favorite but didn't figure him to be one to have soft spots; but, no, I'm not really surprised. Then again, perhaps he hasn't used it on you because it's not all that finished yet?" The man had a contemplative look on his face as he continued talking. And there was that glint in his eyes again as he looked up and rested his cane on the ground in front of him to support him as he leant forward with genuine interest on his face. "Well then, here's another one for you: Riddle me this, what do you call a man who's been killed twice, drowned, burned, defenestrated, hanged and crushed? Dead, that's what. So, tell me Mister Potter, why aren't you?"

He stilled; how could a Muggle know about this? "Who… who the bloody hell are you?" he managed to bite back when he found himself once more. Was this… was this an attempt by Hermione to try and make him run back to their world?

"I am Edward Nigma, the world's greatest detective," he finally introduced himself with an exaggerated bow. When he straightened back up, there was a smirk on his face as if he just thought of a private joke that Harry wouldn't understand. "Mister Ra's al Ghul sent me to say hello; I can see why he and, for that matter, Crane is so interested in you. No need for that confused look on your face, you probably don't know Ra's but he knows _of_ you. He's also asked of me to give you this," he continued before procuring a strange blue flower from his sleeve in a theatrical manner, as if he was one of those Muggle magicians with their tricks.

Suspiciously, Harry looked at the blue flower but, nevertheless, accepted it from the Nigma person. Even if it was poisonous, he'd live again. And he was curious as to this Ra's person as well; who exactly was he and how did he know of him? "What does Ra's want?" he asked him hesitantly and scowled when the man wagged a finger at him.

"That's a riddle for later, Mister Potter. The better question for now would be: What do _you_ want?" he reprimanded him in a chiding tone and chuckled. He spun his bowler hat on one hand and then placed it on top of his head. "I'll leave you to think about it Mister Potter – or might I call you Harry?"

Mister Potter – Harry – frowned at the man, feeling a headache coming along with all the questions this Enigma brought upon him. His mouth was set in a firm line as he didn't know how exactly to answer the question thrown at him or why it was even asked. Why did this Ra's person ask to know what he wanted? That was certainly a strange question. But he wouldn't give this man the satisfaction of leaving him speechless as his features changed to that to a sardonic expression; "You may call me Harry if I may call you Mister E, Mister Nigma."

Apparently, Nigma appreciated the humor and the moniker given to him as he gave a bow. "That'll do, Harry, that'll do. But I must be going now, more people to meet, places to be at and all that." He turned around, reminiscent of Hermione just mere moments ago, and turned back to glance at the boy in his cell, a blue flower in hand. "Do say 'hello' to the _good_ doctor for me and I look forward to meeting you in the future," he smirked before disappearing through the double doors that led out of Intensive Care.

He was… quiet, after that; contemplating as he placed the blue flower on the window sill of his cell. The window had been barred shut with thick glass preventing any form of interaction with the other side of course.

The sun was still nowhere in sight, he figured Jonathan would not hold it against him if he went to his quarters now. So, with silencing charms and a 'Notice Me Not' spell in place, he Apparated out of his cell with a crack and reappeared outside of Jonathan's private quarters, he having chosen to live closer to his work. It was always the way he managed to sneak to and from his cell all the times he's done it too. It was a wooden door that stood between him and his destination, the metal plaque bearing the words: _Dr. Jonathan Crane, Psychology and Psychopharmacology_. He found himself lingering outside longer than he usually did, thinking of what Mister E said to him… No, he won't say 'hello' for him to Doctor J.

Taking out a duplicate key Jonathan gave him after the few times he knocked on his door and made him get out of bed, he slipped quietly through the office and into his private quarters and carefully crept to the man's side.

An arm snaked its way around his waist as blue eyes met green; "Nightmare?" he asked.

Harry shrugged and muttered: "Hermione died," before hiding his face against the older man's chest.

"Oh?" There was a hint of surprise and confusion there; as far as he was concerned and the last that he knew of, Hermione – or the Granger girl and brightest witch of their age as he knew – was still alive. But he let it go for now as he drew _his_ Harry closer to him and grabbed him by the chin to capture his lips in a kiss. Whatever this new development was hurt the boy, he had seen it in his eyes, and he would comfort him but with less fervor as there was a lack of fear in his gaze. Nonetheless, they would both act as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Later, the light slipped through the windows as the sun started to rise and Harry sighed. With the sun, came the morning, and he could feel Hermione being ripped violently away from this plain. Only the thought that it had been a quick and painless death and that she was with Ron now comforted him, yet it pained him that he cannot join them.

The Golden Trio was reduced to one.


	3. Chapter 3: The Infidel Is Me

When the darkness has taken over your mind and death cannot be your salvation, what is there left to do but seek asylum?

_**About the story, Disclaimer, Warning, Pairings: **_See Chapter 1

_**Author's Notes: **_Song for this Chapter is 'The Infidel Is Me' by Rasputina, although it's usually paired together with another song called 'A Retinue of Moons' so it's usually listed as 'A Retinue of Moons/The Infidel Is Me'.

I appreciate the reviews left by pokermaniac039, Fialisen, xXxOtaku-444xXx and Sask by the way! I'm glad you liked them. I hope I can keep it up for your enjoyment (and mine as well)!

Damn, it took me a while to write this. I knew what I wanted to happen (heck, I have up to Chapter 7 and 2 Omakes planned) but my fingers won't type! It also doesn't help that Nigma keeps trying to throw a hissy fit because of Crane.

By the way, if any of you guys RP, I've just recently joined an Arkham City site called Last Laugh at z13 invisionfree. Drop a review if you're interested, hehe; I play Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) and Harvey Dent (Two-Face) there right now.

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_**Hospital Bed Crawl**_

_**Chapter 3: **__The Infidel Is Me_

The December air was cool and crisp as he sat on the window sill of Doctor Crane's office. The temperature was somewhere in the negatives today and he could feel the cold seep into his very bones, considering that he was only wearing the asylum given clothes: a horrendous dark orange, thin jumpsuit that all inmates wore with his identification number printed on the left breast and on the back. The jumpsuit was probably the drawback in his decision of staying here; the other inmates didn't bother him like they did the others, he certainly received better food thanks to Jonathan and a comfortable bed was never a problem.

The island grounds were covered with snow and, from this distance, he could see some of the asylum staff shoveling walkways for those who came and went. It was a futile attempt, he thought at least, with how the stuff continued to fall from the skies. Seems that it'll be a very white Christmas… He can't believe he'll be spending his seventh Christmas in this place.

Seven years, huh?

"Why don't you come in from the cold? You'll catch your death out there," a voice breathed into his ear and he whirled around with a smile. But that smile faltered when he saw that it was just Mister E. Not that he hated the man; a year of visits could endear one to him. On the contrary in fact, he very much enjoyed his company when he wasn't with his lover (you could say that they were best friends!) but he had been expecting it to be Jonathan.

The man made to playfully shove Harry aside as he sat himself on the window sill as well and the younger boy couldn't help but roll his eyes at him. "Hullo to you too Mister E," he greeted him, throwing a glance at the man's choice of clothing a funny look (not that his prison wear was any better). He was dressed more casually than usual, having forgone his signature three piece suit, opting instead for a fern green turtleneck with a Byzantium purple scarf around his neck along with comfortable black pants. Oh, and of course, the ever present cane was still there. The style was quite normal, except perhaps for the color choices but it was still no doubt more comfortable than what Harry got to wear. "So, what brings you here?" It didn't look like he had any business for Ra's or whoever it was he was working with nowadays.

At that, he merely shrugged; "Can't I visit a good friend?"

Well, that certainly proved that he wasn't here on business. Edward Nigma, ever since visiting Harry's cell around a year ago, had started to visit at least thrice a week. It was usually with important business of sorts, a messenger from Ra's bearing all forms of gifts for Harry and dealings to speak of with Jonathan. Routine visits were done that Edward would drop by Harry's cell (if he wasn't at Crane's office) with a present or two, left riddles and questions and a smug smirk which annoyed the boy to no end before retreating to a meeting with Jonathan. Rarely did they deviate from that routine; if anything were to change was that the man would spend lunch with them, the first time it had happened being on Harry's birthday last year. The strange relationship eventually formed into a strange sort of friendship after that.

Harry had only noticed that there had been a silence between them when it was broken as Edward spoke up; "Where's Crane, by the way?" The way it was asked in a nonchalant way told him that it had only been asked out of fleeting curiosity more than concern for the man. He figured it was just another quirk of Jonathan and Edward's friendly rivalry; rivalry of what exactly, he didn't know.

But the question made the boy scowl, a sulking air settling around him. "Working," was his curt answer. Jonathan had been working day and night almost nonstop for the past few weeks barely having time for Harry. They didn't even do their nightly activities anymore, the man always slumping down into bed exhausted when he couldn't take staying up forty hours straight anymore. Harry tried to help once but was blatantly kicked out of the doctor's lab when he made clear that he preferred doing Chemistry work on his own. It was work, work, work and Harry grumbled at the thought of him sounding like an old wife with a workaholic husband. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't help but flush and he hugged his knees and hid his face in embarrassment. He wouldn't admit it out loud but he felt lonely and was a bit glad that Edward came around to visit and alleviate some of that loneliness.

The older man just nodded and a relieved expression, one Harry did not see, flitted over his face momentarily and he couldn't help as he sighed as well. "Come on, forget that guy. Let's go out and walk around in the snow; you have grounds privileges right? I would be surprised if Crane didn't give you that," he said, elbowing the other in the ribs, earning a swat in return and a look from the orange clad male.

"Go out… what's up with you? You never want to go out for a walk unless there's something troubling you Mister E," he said, looking at the elder gentleman with disbelief and worry. He was worried enough that he even didn't mind as Edward laid his head tiredly on his lap, instead choosing to run his fingers through the man's brown tresses. "Is this about the Arthur Brown bloke you go on about? Are you sure you don't actually _like_ the guy?"

Edward huffed in annoyance and shook his head, a scowl forming on his face at the mention of that annoying man's name. "There's no way I like that moron; I already know who I like, thank you very much," he replied hotly, like a petulant child who was being teased by an adult. "But, no, it's not him; it's just… a question, a riddle with answers I can't seem to figure out. Eh, it's stupid… I'm stupid," he sighed, mumbling the last part through gritted teeth.

Harry couldn't help but frown at this, hating when others went into a pitch of self belittling and he flicked the man in the forehead with a smile. "You're not stupid, not at all, don't torture yourself over it Mister E. It must be hard if you can't get it; you're one of the smartest people I know – and I've known people like Hermione, Dumbledore and Snape!" he chided, his small smile growing as he saw the other smile shyly in return. He had learned, after a while, that the man had quite the fragile ego despite how much he boasted about being superior to everyone else and he had quite the want, the need to prove it most of the time. Acknowledgement and praise never hurt as well, especially when what he said was the truth.

He puffed up his chest as best as one could puff up one's chest while lying down before a thoughtful look came across his face. He contemplated something, clearly torn apart at what to decide or not and Harry could see the expression on his face that he had whenever he was about to ask someone for help or a favor. Harry wouldn't offer help knowing that only aggravated Mister Nigma, especially when it came to riddles, and knew that he had to wait for him to ask for it. He didn't have to wait long for the other to speak up though; "You think you can help me Harry?"

The younger man put a finger to his chin, mocking someone who was thinking hard and shrugged. "Hmm, I'm no Ravenclaw but I've been told I can be bloody brilliant sometimes," he grinned widely. That was a yes, of course.

Edward made to open his mouth to speak but shut it. He went silent in thought, once more – he was doing a lot of thinking today… more than usual at least, until he got a determined look on his face. He started: "Of no use to one and yet absolute bliss to two; the small boy gets it for nothing, the young man has to lie for it, the old man has to buy it. The baby's right, the lover's privilege," an unreadable expression flitted over his face for a moment before he continued. "The hypocrite's mask, to the young girl – faith, to the married woman – hope, to the old maid – charity… What am I?"

The _not Ravenclaw_ found himself thinking, trying to figure out the riddle that had his genius friend so baffled. His expressions, while he thought, changed a lot from deep thought to frustration back and forth and other things in between and the man in his lap just resorted to watching the face before him. It went on a while, a good minute or two until his shoulders slumped; "I got nothing, sorry." He scratched the back of his head with a sigh, looking quite apologetic even as the man in his lap continued to stare, as if he were deciding something.

A determined look crossed over Edward's face; "Do you want to know the answer?"

"You figured it out? Well, what is it?" Harry tilted his head at him in curiosity.

Of course, it only proved to make him even more curious when he was beckoned with a hand to draw nearer. "Come closer," he was told and he thought that the answer would be whispered into his ear so he did as he was told, leaning forward. "Closer," Edward said again and Harry went along, amused. Edward probably wanted to keep the answer a secret, didn't want Crane to hear it or something like that – to make sure he was still the smarter of them. He smiled when the other even went so far as to lift his head up to get nearer.

He wasn't quite expecting it when the man's hand went up to his neck and pulled him down. Harry made to protest but the words died down in his throat when lips met; Mister E, Edward, was chaste and careful, unsure how the other would react. But Harry didn't react, everything stopped, he couldn't move and his mind went blank for a moment which felt like forever.

Slowly, he regained himself and Harry place a hand on the other man's chest and gently pushed him down.

The look on Edward's face when their lips parted killed him but… but he couldn't do this to Jonathan. He couldn't betray himself to another like that when Jonathan had been the one who took him in, who cared for him all these years, held him tight in their sleep and made him feel loved and wanted. "He doesn't love you; he loves your fear. He doesn't deserve you; he's just using you…" he whispered.

Hesitantly, Edward pushed himself up, removing his head from Harry's lap so that they sat side by side together once more. Silence reigned between them, either unsure of what to say – should one even say anything in a situation like this? Edward wouldn't apologize, he wasn't sorry at all for what he did, and Harry didn't know if this was something you got angry about. It was all just confusing and a tad bit depressing and he selfishly wished he could talk with Ron or Hermione. He imagined the Weasley would tell him to sock the bloke in the face while his wife would berate him and tell him that he should think about his next move. The awkward air in between them was torturous and thick that you could cut it with a knife. They both resorted to staring out the office window, watching as white snow drifted down lazily from the skies.

There was the unspoken question of who would dare to break the silence first. But neither of them did as the door to the office opened making Mister Nigma look back to see who it was – only to frown when, who else but, Jonathan Crane walked in with a questioning glance toward their direction. "Nigma," he greeted with a curt nod and a not too pleased expression on his face. He didn't like the man snooping around but at least it seemed that Harry had been with him so the man couldn't have done anything unwanted in his office.

Of course, he only snooped around to annoy the other man. "Crane," he responded stiffly and stood up, leaving Harry at the window sill alone. Edward made to leave but stopped at the raised brow on the doctor's face, no doubt questioning his business here in his office. He lied; "Mister Al Ghul wanted to question your progress on the project." Of course Ra's really wasn't asking that, he knew they already had frequent reports every Friday and today was a Thursday. He hoped that Crane would just think that the man was just being impatient though.

Cool blue eyes wandered over to the younger man still staring out the snow, pretending as if he weren't listening to their exchange. "Tell him everything is going as planned, nothing to worry about. Is that all you're here for, Nigma?" Crane threw him an insulted look and he gestured for him to leave.

He gladly complied with one last look at Harry.

With him gone, Jonathan made a beeline for his desk to open drawers and retrieve papers. Then stopped, with another questioning look shot at the younger man's back… he should have flocked over to him by now as he usually did when he returned from work. His unresponsive state to his arrival was quite unusual; did that annoying Nigma have something to do with it? "Harry," he called out and saw as the boy jumped, stilled and slowly made to look at him. The doctor couldn't help but lick his lips hungrily when he saw that small smidgen of fear in the boy's eyes… Fear of what though? What had Nigma done?

Harry feared, that small fear, that what had transpired between him and Mister E would ruin their friendship… and would ruin his relationship with Jonathan if he ever found out about it. A smile that didn't quite reach his poison green eyes graced his face; "S-Sorry, I'm afraid I was zoning off. You're done with work, doctor J?"

_I'm afraid I was zoning off_;interesting choice of words.

The doctor shook his head; "I'm just here to get some documents. It'll be another all nighter, you see the chemicals aren't quite-" he started, about to go off into a spiel about chemistry until he saw the exasperated and tired look the boy had taken on. Of course he didn't know much about science, considering his _alternative_ education so it was a look he often adopted when he started to talk about scientific jargon. So he stopped, thinking he should at least do that much as he would be leaving the boy alone for quite a while once more. He smiled, closing the drawers, required papers in hand as he walked to the boy and squeezed his shoulder; "Then again, I think I need a break and some dinner; a hot meal sounds good right about now."

"Do you think they have some corn beef sandwiches?" he asked, dusting snow from his still horrendously orange jumpsuit (maybe he should use a color changing charm on it?) and stood up. He craved a corn beef sandwich, mostly because he always got them whenever Ron refused to eat them.

Jonathan's smile grew while his hand still on Harry's shoulder as he steered them out of the office. "Hmm, not really something fitting for supper but they probably do." His hand never left his shoulder, even as he locked the door. "I'm going to need a cup of coffee too."

"That sounds nice."


	4. Chapter 4: Fur Elise

When the darkness has taken over your mind and death cannot be your salvation, what is there left to do but seek asylum?

_**About the story, Disclaimer, Warning, Pairings: **_See Chapter 1

_**Author's Notes: **_Fur Elise, I think everyone knows that. You know, by Beethoven?

Random question time! If Harry were a Batman super villain, what would his alias be? Drop it in a review! Heck, go at it too with Hermione, Ron, Luna, Draco and just about any other Harry Potter character you want, whether an alias as a superhero or super villain. For some reason, I see Ron as a superhero named the Red Cannon, probably flying around on a broom and shit.

Burlesque Mistress 92: Nope. An author's duty is to write, in this case, a story. Giving Harry his happiness right away isn't the right thing for me, telling his story is, and he'll have to figuratively work for his happiness. Not all stories have happy endings… whether this particular one has one or not, well, you'll have to wait and find out. But yes, Crane is a downright git, I do not deny that, and yes, Nigma would treat him better. Also, I don't see a mega "hawt" three way happening; Crane doesn't like sharing and Nigma sure isn't sharing with him if he ever got his way. I hope you keep reading despite the fact that there is no guarantee of a happy ending though!

Thanks GrimCharmer and Sask for reminding me to update! I actually finished this a week ago but I never found the time to do a final proofread and upload it in the past seven days.

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_**Hospital Bed Crawl**_

_**Chapter 4: **__Fur Elise_

"Ra's al Ghul is dead. Who are you working for, Crane?"

He could feel the toxin coursing through his veins, doing as it was supposed to do. Taste of his own medicine indeed; he could not decide whether he should be elated and worried at having his own creation being turned against him. The Bat Man, as he was called, before him slowly but surely turned into a frightening sight although he had already been quite the menacing figure before; a dark creature with a mouth that spewed putrid bile and dark eyes that threatened to pull him into oblivion.

One could not blame him as he stared wide eyed, both fascinated and fearful of the being before him. And the fear, the delicious fear he could feel coursing through him, it was heavenly. If he wasn't so awed at the sensation, too busy with his mouth agape, he would imagine he would be laughing, giggling uncontrollably right now. Doctor Jonathan Crane really didn't feel fear as much as he did now and it excited him, enlightened him and it was too much. He could hear them pointing at him saying one word over and over again: scarecrow, scarecrow, scarecrow, scarecrow, Scarecrow.

Something in him snapped: "Doctor Crane isn't here right now. But if you'd like to make an appointment."

The next thing he knew, he was regaining consciousness and the side of his head throbbed as if he had been hit with a hammer or he had been used as one. Not only that, he was also strapped in something tight and constricting – a straightjacket – and was being wheeled down such familiar halls. And he could find himself both frightened and amused at every flickering shadow, imagining a bat hiding in them, ready to jump out. Crane tried to focus, tried to think of what was wrong with the picture, he was the doctor after all and not the loony, but the voices went on and on… scarecrow, scarecrow, scarecrow, Scarecrow.

Door after door in this godforsaken hallway, his focus wondered here and there until a flash of green caught his attention. Green eyes looked at him, wide in disbelief, from behind cell doors. "Doctor J?" the young man's voice called out, pulling him momentarily from the darkness and he could see the anger. "What are you doing to Doctor J? Where are you taking him?! Jonathan!" the one with peridot eyes screamed again and again, his words echoing inside Intensive Care. But the orderly kept on pushing him past them without even a glance in the boy's direction and he could no longer hear him… the chanting repeated again – scarecrow, scarecrow, Scarecrow.

Harry was at a loss for words, unable to believe what he had just seen. He and Jonathan hardly spoke nowadays, he usually finding himself with no company as Mister E's visits became less and less. The doctor was busy with work and even had to go outside of the asylum so often and the latter... he did not know what the latter was up to. If he had company, well he didn't like them especially the bloke Victor Zsasz who was placed in the cell next to his. It's been months now and it was simply killing him on the inside.

And now that he'd seen Jonathan again, they were wheeling him away like he was some… some guy who was off his rocker; not Jonathan, it couldn't be! There had to be an explanation! He had questions and they will answer whether they wanted to or not. He paced around his cell for a while but his confusion turned to anger and there was no finesse when he was angry. He turned around, ready to blast the door open in a blind rage, only to stop at the sight of a man blocking his way.

The man was wearing a crisp black suit with a dark tie and shirt underneath, wooden cane in hand. He couldn't have been younger than forty or so, with a greying beard and moustache although his hair was a dirty shade of brown and green eyes that looked at him in amusement. Although an elderly figure, he felt… dangerous and powerful.

The young man felt cowed for a moment until he remembered he wasn't some wizard's apprentice who was still learning spells and using a wand. It was merely his likeness to one Lucius Malfoy that had thrown him back to his much younger years; they had the same air, the same cutting and intimidating yet elegant presence about them, the Malfoy and the stranger. Then he remembered what was going on; what had earned his malevolence and angered him so much that he was ready to blow his cell apart if it weren't for the other person in there with him. It didn't even come to him to ask who the stranger was and how did he get in without him noticing – that was not important to him right now. "Stand aside, sir," he barely got out through gritted teeth.

"Mister Potter; a pleasure to finally meet you face to face," the man responded with a conniving smile.

He froze with a suspicious glare at the other person. But hot anger thawed the cold fear that ran through him; "The pleasure is all yours, of course. Now get out of the way or I'll make you," was his scathing reply.

"You know, there's nothing you can do for him Mister Potter. It's too late, I'm _afraid_ he's rather taken a bad dose of his own medicine; turned into one of the very people he's supposed to take care of," the elder continued as if he had not been threatened at all. "Such is the manner of things; some call it karma I believe. I? I see it as justice, balance. A shame, we could had have more use for him and his skill and intellect; clever man, managing to weaponize the organic compounds in our blue flower to create a toxin that showed one's fears. But he should have fled when his opposition arrived; this wouldn't have happened if he did that. He couldn't handle his own creation and its driven him mad."

"…Ra's al Ghul. What do you want?" His anger returned and so did his confusion.

"Ah, you remember my name; I am honoured. What I want is simple; as a bringer of justice and balance, death is sometimes a necessity – so, my dear boy, why not court the Master of Death itself?" Ra's smiled with a cordial bow of the head. "You'd be quite the student, quite the heir for the League of Shadows. Imagine, offering thousands of corrupt humans to the Grim Reaper, won't he be pleased? Why, I'm offering the entirety of Gotham to you right now if you'd like… it is, after all, Doctor Crane's masterpiece. I do not see why you shouldn't be a part of it."

The boy hissed; "I am no murderer."

"Oh, why don't you tell that to Voldemort and the seventy that you killed to land yourself in here in the first place, Mister Potter. Why don't you think about it, Harry? Now, if you excuse me, I have a birthday party to attend to," the old man merely chuckled with a shake of his head before turning around to depart, leaving the door wide open for the young man. Outside were a few other men along with two wearing uniforms that bore the letters SWAT and the boy took a step back with a sneer, thinking they would be stopping him from leaving his cell. But they merely ignored him and went the same way Jonathan did and he made to follow them, thinking they might hurt the doctor instead. That is until Ra's spoke up once more; "Oh, don't worry about them. They'll do you or Doctor Crane no harm – it is Batman you have to worry about, my boy."

"Batman?"

"Oh, yes, he's a... delusional man who dresses himself up as a bat. And it might interest you to know that he's the one that did _this_ to Crane," he nodded with a smile and then left.

Batman... Harry shook his head and took off in the opposite direction of where Ra's and his men were headed to. He needed to get Jonathan.

"What was the plan, Crane? How were you gonna get your toxin into the air?"

Jonathan, for the lack of better way to describe it, was tied up at the moment. Confined in a little room but hardly noticed it as he was off in his own little world. A world where people were monsters and no one, no one was safe from the maws of fear itself. He had been frightened but it soon turned to fascination and he found himself joining their chants.

"Scarecrow... Scarecrow..."

"Who were you working for, Crane?" the nosy police officer asked, distracting him. In the police officer's was his _face_, why take his _face_ from him? How cruel. The man was... Gordon, yes, Gordon was his name – he'd remember his face and his ugly caterpillar moustache.

Gordon wanted to know the plan, how they were going to spread fear in Gotham and who was his employer? He couldn't help but press his lips together, feeling a smirk come along although his attention was still half here, half _there_. "Oh, it's too late. You can't stop it now." It was too late to stop, Ra's and his men had been planning so long, infiltrating every level of the city's infrastructure. Nobody would stop them from showing Gotham true fear and gaining power through it.

His smirk widened when the man stood up and walked off in frustration, handing _his_ face to the other police officer in the room. This one had an ugly caterpillar moustache too but, unlike Gordon, looked quite wary and scared of him. Oh goodie.

Harry ran as fast as he could through the halls, trying to see where they took Jonathan. He had come from Intensive Care so he could be in Penitentiary or Extreme Isolation, the latter harder to find than the first. He only knew that Extreme Isolation even existed because the doctor told him about the troublesome patients in there. Hopefully he wasn't there anyway and the boy found himself running around plenty and vast corridors, checking rooms and blasting down doors as he came and went with no sign of his target.

Just then, an alarm rang throughout the entire building and all the doors opened. Criminals and criminally insane alike started flooding the halls and it took all self control he had not to just blast them aside. They all headed in one direction and gave Harry strange looks and some even called for his attention as he walked against the flow but he ignored them; they were a waste of his time.

Soon, another alarm rang out when an explosion rocked the building. Prisoners here and there made a run for it, through the hole in the wall and he saw by it was one of the false SWAT men. Harry ran to him and grabbed him by the front of his shirt; "Where's Jonathan? Where's Crane?!" he asked.

The man just shoved him off and shook his head; "He's playing." That was the only response he got when the man lifted something, a gas mask he realized, and snapped it into place before leaving the boy without another glance. And then another explosion happened although it was unlike the first and then another, one after the other a few minutes apart each and a fine mist of... something spread through the air.

If it wasn't chaotic before, it was now. Chaos, anarchy, pandemonium... the land of nightmares; there would be no other way to better describe it. People were fleeing from their perceived monsters without a care if they trampled upon another person in their haste, some were fighting each other in defiant acts of bravery and the rest were completely paralyzed by their fear, usually huddled in a corner here and there.

The toxin did not affect him as much as it did the Muggles and he was focused, focused on finding the doctor. But Harry could feel it taking over his senses too and every shadow became a dementor and every unmoving body became the corpse of someone he knew: Sirius, his parents, Lupin, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Snape... He was thankful that he didn't see Jonathan among them.

Some of the corpses were real too and he could see the Grim frolicking about like a happy puppy but he paid it no real heed. Death is able to function without its master and has done so since the beginning of time; he had his own problems to attend to.

Then, he heard it: "Crane?" It was a woman's voice, curious and afraid. He turned around so quickly he must have gotten whiplash to see a man on a horse, his face hidden underneath a garish mask... a mask he recognized. He had seen that mask once, in Jonathan's desk but the doctor had told him to ignore it. It was nothing, he had said.

"No. Scarecrow."

That voice... "Jonathan!" Harry shouted but he mustn't have heard him as he went galloping along in the opposite direction. No, no, he wasn't going to lose him now that he's found him, he won't allow that. So he ran and ran, pushing his legs as fast as he could to keep up with the horse and its rider, barely managing to do so even with his magic because of the toxin in the air distracting him. What in Merlin's name was going on anyway?

He managed to catch up when they stopped at a dead end, Harry keeling over to catch his breath. Such a long time in the asylum has made him less fit then he was compared to when he was in the war and when he was an Auror. But Jonathan's voice calls him and he looks up, thinking he was being addressed as the doctor says: "There you are! There is nothing to fear… but fear itself!" But no, he wasn't even looking at Harry. Instead, there is a woman and a child and he couldn't help but jump to conclusions... were they the doctor's wife and son? "I am here to help yo-" the doctor even tries to continue, reaching out to the two of them until the woman takes out something.

A Muggle device and Jonathan suddenly seizes and jerks backward, almost thrown off his horse only hanging by the footholds. Sparks, electricity hits him in the face and the animal panics, running away.

Harry could feel his anger flare; how dare that woman hurt Jonathan when he was trying to help? He could feel his magic lashing out, to deal pain upon the bitch but Jonathan's pained screams pull at him, summoning him. He doesn't like it but dismisses the woman in favour of helping the other man.

It takes a while, the panicked horse running faster than before. But soon the doctor is thrown off his steed and is left writhing on the ground in pain, clawing at his masked face. Harry is quick to rush to his side and helps take it off; the tazer barbs are embedded into the man's cheek marring his beautiful face and his expression is contorted in anger and pain.

Blue eyes flicker about as they try to find that Dawes woman; he should have killed her. Instead, he sees green eyes and a warm hand finds its way to his cheek, a familiar voice shushing him and whispering comforting nothings. "I'm here Jonathan, I'm here... it's alright," the boy hushes him, cradling him carefully and running his fingers through the man's brown hair.

"H-Harry?" he croaks out, unsure whether he was real or he had been affected by his toxin again. But the soft caresses and the smile on the younger man's lips make it real... those green eyes that nobody else could have, could not be replicated even in a dream reassures him.

Jonathan is safe. And Harry is happy.

For now.


End file.
